


Regret in Adultery

by EllieMorgan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMorgan/pseuds/EllieMorgan
Summary: She's married to Cullen, but that doesn't stop them. Just once, and then Thom will let her go.





	Regret in Adultery

Sleeping with a married woman was not the worst he'd done in his life, and he no longer dwelled on the things that were. There was guilt, of course. Cullen was respectable. Smart. Could handle himself in a fight.

But he wasn't here, was he? Never was. Didn't give enough of a damn to step out of comfort to walk with her, to prevent Thom from losing himself.

No, that was no excuse. It wasn't her husband's responsibility. Not on Cullen that Thom had met with her in a fit of loneliness brought on by proximity. Not on Cullen that Thom had stupidly brought up the early flirts she'd made when he'd still pretended to be someone else. "Thom," she'd said as she did nowadays, "you had your chance." And, Maker, that was as true as anything he'd ever heard. And it wasn't on Cullen that he kissed her anyway by the fireside, his mouth and hers both complicit in this play of fancy.

Thom purposefully didn't call it a regret, and he was certain she didn't think that way either. She wasn't the type to court or marry for obligation, and if she had a 'no' for Cullen anywhere in her heart, she would have said it a long time ago. She was happy. He was certain of that much.

Happy — but here nevertheless, with Thom's stupid desire on display, his palm up her blouse for a grope at her bare waist. He wondered where he'd be if he hadn't turned her down. Would he be right here, with a steady heart instead of one in turmoil? Or would it have been a passing fancy? He doubted that — he found himself too damned set on her despite being several years past.

She didn't stop him, though he couldn't say he understood her motivations. Here he was, holding a funeral on her lips for his traitorous feelings, and she reciprocated so strongly: her tongue in his mouth where he hesitated; her fingers tangled in his beard; and, in the weakest moment, when he began to wonder just how far he might push, her dexterousness at the fastenings of his armor.

It was impossible to express how much he wanted to retreat, to hole up and make some jest over how foolish he'd been — now, for this, and back then, for telling her to go. Saying "Lady Trevelyan" in an attempt to start a formal sentence only seemed to encourage her, and Thom was hard enough that he didn't give two shits anymore. "You'll undo me," he said instead, panting. "I mean it." She only pushed lightly on his head until his mouth sat below her jaw. He'd never been so desperate not to leave a mark, and his resultant necking was tame, gentle.

He'd have her, then, husband be damned. She'd already peeled him clean like a shellfish, all hard armor tossed in a pile to his right. The cottons he wore beneath the heavy plate weren't sufficient to hide anything from her: not his shape, not the twitch of still-hesitant muscle, not his desire. He wouldn't have denied that desire now, even if he could — he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into his lap, dragging his barely-clothed erection against the ass of those leather trousers which tormented him so. She wrapped her remaining hand around his back, tightly, fingertips into his spine as her hips tempted the most rewarding angle. His dry thrust against her was involuntary and accompanied by a groan.

"You feel that?" he growled into her ear, and he found that he legitimately wanted an answer. "Maker, the things you've always done to me."

"Thom," was whispered far too quietly for his tastes.

He reached down to loose her buttons, thick fingers making quick work of all three. "Didn't hear that," he lied.

Her second attempt came with his thumb dragging south through the opening he'd made, quick sideways rubs against the apex of her sex. For that, she swallowed his name in a gasp.

It wasn't enough. With a change of angle, he pushed one finger shallowly inside her. Thom didn't have the patience for foreplay, but her cunt was slick and wet, wanting for him as he was for the feel of her. He helped, mindful of that missing limb, by rolling her off onto her back. Those damned trousers were gone with a few ungraceful tugs; he unfastened his own and let temptation have exactly what it wanted — he pulled her legs around his own and buried his cock inside her.

Maker, she was all heat. There was no pause to reflect or accommodate or to tell her that her husband might hate her for the betrayal; Thom lifted his hips instead, pulling back, thrusting forward hard enough that the slap of skin to skin rang out in the evening air. He set a feverish pace between her thighs, making no effort at creativity or her satisfaction, pounding at her pussy instead with unhinged grunts, whispering her name which he had no right at all to say.

"Thom," had become a plea now, between her lips — "please" and "harder" as encouragement. He wondered idly whether Cullen took her like this, or if he treated her too gently. Thom braced his weight beside her left shoulder, thumbed her clitoris with his other hand, swore Andraste's name in the face of need, and kissed her strongly. He'd made a mistake in denying her back then, but he wasn't about to add that to her conscience. He couldn't regret her happiness. "I hope he comes in you like he needs you," Thom said. "Desperate," he added in the next thrust, "and I hope he loves you."

"Cullen," passed her lips then, and Thom knew he'd never hear his own name cried out as he'd like. Her reactions changed in an instant, her back arching, and he benefited from her love for someone else in her orgasm. He followed quickly, like some inexperienced adolescent, planting his seed deep against her cervix in pulsing satisfaction as he rode the wave of pleasure she'd torn from his body.

Thom allowed himself to enjoy, only for a moment, the thought of asking her to stay. He couldn't; he knew what her answer would be. But being with her would have — Maker, no, she was the furthest thing from his. He'd already resolved to end this obsession.

She breathed. "I loved you, once," was a painful confession to hear.

"I know," he muttered. He withdrew, too much a coward to do her the courtesy of cleaning her; he grabbed a cloth for himself and refastened his trousers. "You've done one better, now. Take care of it. And yourself."

"I won't see you again," she said, and her tone told him it wasn't a request — rather, she'd caught his intention.

"No," he admitted. "This wasn't right. It was goodbye."

And he suspected that the now-missus Rutherford was all right with that. Blackwall would pay a visit to that soldier over the ridge who'd followed — in hope of securing some discretion, lest Cullen come for his head.


End file.
